Fighting Dragons with You
by mille libri
Summary: Days in the life of the Dragonborn and her followers.
1. Two Professionals

_Recently restarted Skyrim and was tempted to chronicle some scenes, real and imagined, in the life of the Dragonborn. Enjoy!_

* * *

It was just an ordinary cave. Sophie had suggested seeing what was inside mostly for fun—she hadn't imagined they would find a nest of necromancers hidden within. Sitting outside, now that it was all over, she drew her knees up to her chest and pressed her face against them, trying to forget how pale and helpless Uthgerd had looked when Sophie had finally found her, lying curled up in a corner where she had been flung by the magically raised body of an orc. That had not been what the other woman had signed on for when she agreed to follow Sophie and share in her adventures.

After weeks of traveling with Lydia, her house-carl, Sophie had had more than enough of being called "my thane" and of Lydia's rather lacking sword skills. It had been a relief to both of them when Sophie had collected enough coin to be able to buy a small house in Whiterun and let Lydia stay home to tend it, which seemed to be where both her heart and her talents lay. And when Uthgerd had complained of being bored and wanting some adventure, Sophie had been excited to travel with someone whose skill matched her own. But after such a short time, a lucky blow when she hadn't been expecting it had ended Uthgerd's fighting days—and all her other days along with them.

Still, no sense sitting here, Sophie decided. Uthgerd wouldn't have, had the tables been turned. She dug out her map, unfolding it. The creases were already deeply worn—she'd have to copy it over onto a fresh sheet of paper soon. Or try burning it into leather; that might be more durable.

She could go east across the mountains back to Whiterun … but then there would be questions about Uthgerd, and Sophie didn't think she was prepared for those quite yet. The next nearest city looked like Windhelm, a fairly straight shot north, and no mountains, either.

A memory stirred of a man she had met there, who had offered to travel with her for a fee. Maybe that's what she needed, paid help. If she paid, he'd get his value out of the travel upfront, and she could lay down the ground rules before they went without having to feel strange about giving orders. They would be two professionals working together, not two friends on a lark, not thane and servant.

She got up, climbing down the bank toward the river, leaving Uthgerd behind her.

Windhelm was freezing, as always, and Sophie wondered grouchily why anyone would subject themselves to a life in such a frigid climate. Skyrim had so many lovely, temperate areas, and yet these people scratched a living into the very ice of the mountainside. She would never understand it.

It was a relief to shove the door of the Candlehearth Inn closed against the wind and to stand for a moment letting the warmth soak into her bones.

No one paid any attention to her; all the denizens were engaged in listening to a surprisingly tuneful—and unsurprisingly Stormcloak-centered song being sung by the local bard. That was fine with Sophie; she preferred not to attract extra attention if she could avoid it, especially here. It was hard to keep up with the rumors about her and to know how far they had flown. Had Ulfric Stormcloak heard of her exploits since they had been at Helgen together? And if so, would he have heard of her Imperial leanings? Sophie didn't know, and she was not at all anxious to find out. She'd prefer to stay anonymous for as long as possible.

Making her way through the room, she looked into corners for the man she sought. Ah, there he was, at a table in the back, nodding his head slightly to the beat of the music. It was the same table she'd seen him at the last time she'd been here, Sophie noticed, almost as though he hadn't moved in the meantime. She smiled to herself at the idea. As though everyone in Skyrim simply waited for her arrival to be put in motion! The ridiculousness of such a thing.

She was at his table, standing between him and the bard.

"Something you want?" he asked gruffly.

"Stenvar, wasn't it?"

"That's right."

"Last time I was here, you said your services were for hire. Are they still?" She pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning across the table toward him.

He looked her over. "Depends on whose asking, and what they're paying."

"Five hundred gold was the price you quoted last time."

"Yeah."

"I have the gold if you have the blade."

Stenvar frowned. "Little thing like you carries around that kind of coin? I doubt it."

"Try me." Sophie held his gaze, unblinking, until he cracked a grin.

"All right, I'll bite. Where are we going?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. All over Skyrim."

"You on the run?"

She shook her head. "Just like to wander. I pick up odd jobs here and there, stop in at various towns along the way and sell the goods I've picked up."

"Got a permanent base?"

"I have a small house in Whiterun." She was also thane of Whiterun and Hjaalmarch, but she'd never seen any good come from those titles, so she usually didn't bother to mention them.

"Whiterun? I heard the roads there are too dangerous to travel on."

"Not for me," Sophie said simply.

Stenvar gave her another, more careful, looking over. "Huh. All right, where are we headed?"

She smiled. "Not so fast. First, you have to hear the ground rules."

"Never liked rules," he said.

"Well, tough guy, maybe you're not right for this. Stop talking and listen, and you can decide. First, I walk a lot. We'll be all over Skyrim and back again. You'd better have a good pair of boots; if you don't, I'll buy you a pair."

"I don't need your charity. My boots are plenty good."

"I hope so."

"What else?"

"I rarely take the road if there's a shorter way to get somewhere. I climb mountains, ford rivers … and I expect you to keep up with me."

"You think I can't go where you go?"

"No one has so far." Sophie thought with irritation of Lydia's insistence on sticking to the roads at all times.

"Huh. Well, my knee acts up occasionally, so I might stick to the road sometimes, but I'll keep up. You pay me, I'll be there when you need me."

"You talk a good game, Stenvar."

"I can do more than talk, Dragonborn."

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "I'm just a sellsword, nothing more. And you can leave that kind of comment by the side of the road. This is business, not pleasure. Separate bedrolls, and you keep your hands to yourself or you feel the bite of my blade."

"You deny that you're the Dragonborn?"

Sophie sighed. "No. I kill dragons, something strange happens, a warm glow and a wind. I can use the thu'um, with some practice. But all it really means to me is that wherever I go, there's likely to be a dragon. That's why I try not to stay in one place too long. I don't want to be responsible for someone else dying in a dragon attack."

"Fair enough. What do I call you, then?"

"Sophie works as well as anything. What do you say, you think you can manage?"

"Never know until you try. Still, it sounds better than sitting here. So what are we waiting for?"

"That's what I like to hear. Let's get started."


	2. Nightmare

_Thanks for reading! _

* * *

A spear of ice buried itself between Stenvar's shoulder blades. His eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to his knees. As he toppled, his mouth opened to say something but no words came out.

Sophie shouted in frustration, blasting the skeletons away from her with the force of her thu'um, and lashed out with her axe, cleaving bone from bone as she made her way through the skeletons toward the mage controlling them. Just as the last skeleton burst apart in a shower of bone fragments, the mage muttered an incantation, and Stenvar slowly rose from the ground, a blue light shining from his unseeing eyes as he picked up his weapon and came toward her.

Tears sprang to Sophie's eyes and she fell backward, attempting to block both Stenvar's blows and the magic fire of the necromancer. "No …" she moaned.

"Sophie." Her name, uttered in Stenvar's familiar raspy voice, woke her. She sat up in the bed, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to get warm after the chill of the dream.

"What was it? Nightmare?" he asked from the doorway, where he was keeping watch in case they had missed a bandit or two when they swept the keep.

She nodded, afraid to trust her voice just yet, still seeing the dream vividly in her mind's eye. Despite the furs she lay under and the heat of the fire nearby, she was shivering.

"That bad?" Stenvar checked the latch on the door, making sure it was secure, before he came toward her. "Want to tell me about it?"

"It's … you were killed."

"Huh. I don't suppose Dragonborns' dreams come true?"

"Not that I know of."

"Lucky for me. Was there more to it?" He sat down at the foot of the bed. "You seem pretty shaken up."

"There was a necromancer." A chill wracked her. "He resurrected you."

"And you were going to have to fight me?" Stenvar chuckled softly. "I can see why you'd be upset. You couldn't take me if you tried, Dragonborn or not."

Sophie smiled in return, more in acknowledgment of the sally than out of any lift in mood. "I just … after Uthgerd—I don't want to be responsible for anyone's death."

He lifted his eyebrows, gesturing toward the outside of the keep, where they had stacked the bodies of the bandits to burn in the morning. "Didn't seem to bother you earlier."

"That's different— I mean, it's not exactly … All right, then, you have a point," she admitted. "Still, when it's someone whose welfare is in my hands …"

"I talked to Lydia the last time we were in Whiterun," Stenvar remarked. "She told me about Uthgerd, that she was a tough, powerful warrior. She chose her fate, which is more than many people can say."

"If it hadn't been for me, she wouldn't have been there." Sophie looked down at her hands. "It was my fault."

Stenvar moved closer, sitting next to Sophie. "If it hadn't been for you, she'd still be sitting there in that little inn—"

"The Bannered Mare."

"Right, the Bannered Mare. Just sitting there, waiting for something to happen. That's no way for a warrior to end their days. If you'd asked her, she'd have said she'd rather die in a cave fighting than in a chair … sitting."

Sophie nodded, slowly, but she was still shivering.

He put his big hands on her shoulders. "It's not your fault." Gently he kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. Then, slowly and a bit uncertainly, her mouth.

Both of them froze, lips still touching, as they considered whether to continue down this path or to hastily stop and go back. Then Sophie raised her arms and put them around Stenvar's shoulders, and he leaned farther toward her, his kiss deepening until she opened her mouth for him.

This intimacy had not been in her plan; she had intended their relationship to remain strictly business, and had not been willing to recognize her growing attraction to his stalwart support, his gruff humor, and his muscles as they bunched and flexed in combat. But the attraction was there, nevertheless, and it had been entirely too long.

She let Stenvar press her back into the furs, kissing her as his hands, big and warm and rough, caressed her body. He was a little clumsy, but Sophie was too wrapped up in his heat chasing away the chill of her dream and the reassuring closeness of his body to care. She allowed her own hands to do a little roaming, as well, finding all his sensitive places.

Shoving the top layer of furs, no longer needed for any additional warmth, onto the floor, Stenvar gently pressed Sophie's legs apart. She arched up, eager for the joining of their bodies, and sighed in satisfaction as he filled her. His strokes started out slow, but increased in speed with the rise of their mutual frenzy.

When it was over, Sophie lay back on the furs, panting, her skin slick with sweat. "That wasn't my intention, you know," she remarked when she could find the breath.

"Nope." He lay next to her, staring up at the ceiling. "More fun than playin' ninepins with empty wine bottles and a cabbage, though."

Sophie laughed. "True. Plus you can't crow about your wins all day. I still say my cabbage was rotten."

Stenvar turned his head toward her, raising an eyebrow. "I can think of plenty more interesting things to do than crow."

With a sigh, Sophie turned over, resting her head against his warm arm. Certainly sharing a bed was more sensible than sleeping alone, and it only made sense to enjoy themselves while they could. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to a dreamless sleep.


	3. Trust

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

The mountain air was still and cold as Sophie trudged after the little Dunmer and Stenvar trudged after Sophie, their boots sinking deep into the snow. It hadn't been Sophie's intention to get involved in some sort of nightmare plague raging through Dawnstar—but so little of what she ended up doing was what she had intended to do that she had essentially stopped planning. She viewed herself as a chunk of ice bobbing in the water, bounced here and there by the ships she ran into.

Into her reverie came the sudden scream of a sabre cat. That was all the warning they had before three of the animals broke through the snow and launched themselves at the travelers. The Dunmer priest, Erandur, ducked his cat and shot a bolt of lightning at it. Stenvar drew his sword. Sophie caught the swipe of a huge paw on her shield and staggered under the force of it before getting her bearings and swinging her axe at the creature.

The air was filled now with the smells of singed hair and blood and the yowls of the cats. Erandur's magic was holding his back effectively while slowly sapping it of strength. Sophie jammed the edge of her shield into her cat's mouth, breaking a few of its teeth as she did so, and as she held it there mostly immobilized she sank her axe into its neck.

Behind her came a remarkably high-pitched shriek. Dislodging her axe with a quick, practiced movement, she whirled around to see Stenvar on the ground, clutching his leg. The sabre cat's razor-sharp claws had found the gap in the joint of his armor, and it looked like the claw had pierced his knee. The cat was about to pounce, completing its work, when a jolt of energy from Erandur crackled blue in the air and held it immobilized. Sophie threw herself at it, a single sharp blow of her axe severing two of the cat's vertebrae.

Erandur's cat was down, and he hurried over to take a look at Stenvar's leg, extracting a broken shard of claw from the wound. With quick movements he cleaned the site with snow and wrapped it as best he could without completely removing the armor. "Can you stand?"

Stenvar's jaw tightened with the pain as he moved, but he managed to get to his feet.

Sophie gave him her arm to steady himself with. "How much farther are we going?" she asked Erandur.

He pointed farther up the mountain; a steep climb through deep snow. Behind them was a shorter journey through already broken snow back into Dawnstar, where Stenvar could rest in the inn. "We'll take you back," she said. Both men's faces fell.

"I can keep going," Stenvar insisted, while Erandur shook his head.

"It is best not to delay. The sanity—and the safety—of the people in Dawnstar depend on us completing our task."

Sophie barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I wasn't asking for opinions. Stenvar, you're going back to Dawnstar to get that leg healed and rest up. Erandur, we're dropping him off at the inn and coming straight back. The longer you argue with me, the longer that takes."

"I will wait for you here," the Dunmer said with offended dignity, stepping back.

"Have it your way."

"I don't like you going on with that guy," Stenvar muttered as they made their way slowly back down the hill. "I don't trust him."

"You don't need to trust him; you only need to trust me."

He grunted. "You can't watch your own back. You'll be in the middle of some gods-forsaken temple at the mercy of a vicious Daedric lord with a strange elf. You notice how his accent keeps changing?"

"Yes, I noticed." Sophie grinned at him. "You know, I did this before I met you."

"Uh-huh." He winced in pain. "You sure you can't wait until my leg heals up?"

"After the way the people in Dawnstar were acting? These nightmares have them all at each other's throats. If I don't do this now, someone's going to crack and take out half the town." Sophie shook his arm affectionately. "I'm afraid you're going to have to sit this one out, big guy."

The buildings of Dawnstar were in view, and each step seemed to be getting harder for him. Sophie was glad she had brought him back herself; he might not have made it otherwise. She settled him into the inn, pretending she didn't see the worry in his eyes as she left.

Ahead of her, Erandur waited; ahead of him, the Temple of Vaermina and a task unlike any she had faced before. Despite her brave words, she wished for Stenvar's strong arm as she began the climb again.


	4. Campfire

The fire crackled in the quiet night. Stenvar threw a small twig into it and they both watched as it glowed red and slowly burnt away. It had been a long day of fairly boring travel; they hadn't so much as shot a rabbit.

Stenvar groaned and stretched out his leg, rubbing his kneecap.

"Still bothers you?"

He grunted.

"I knew we should have stayed in Dawnstar longer and let it heal."

"Too creepy. Even once they were done having nightmares, those people …" He shuddered. "Nope. It was time to go."

"So you're not likely to settle down in Dawnstar, then?" Sophie grinned at him.

"Definitely not." He stared contemplatively into the flames. "You ever think about it?"

"What, Dawnstar?"

"No. Settling down."

"Oh." Sophie set down her axe, judging that the blade was sharp enough. "Can't say as I do, really. I mean, I have the house in Whiterun, but as for just living there?" She shook her head. "I can't see that happening any time soon."

"Huh."

Something in his tone, even in that brief monosyllable, caught her attention. She frowned. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

Stenvar sighed, sitting forward and staring into the flames. "No," he said after a long moment. "Not yet. But I think—I think it's coming. I'm not getting any younger, and sleeping out every night, these long days walking, all the fighting … I'm starting to get tired."

"Where would you go?" The question was out before Sophie considered how sharply it would define their future relationship, or lack thereof. Stenvar lifted his head and looked at her with a sardonic smile that told her he'd gotten the message loud and clear. Sophie felt badly about that—but they'd never pretended to be in love, for all that they had been lovers. There had been no promises, no talk of the future, no flowery protestations.

"I don't know," he said at last. "When I think of someplace, I'll tell you."

"Fair enough."

Stenvar returned his gaze to the fire, and Sophie got up to start her turn on watch. She didn't begrudge him the chance to settle down and be comfortable … but she wasn't sure what she'd do without him, either.


	5. Marcurio

It had been a mistake to carry so much, Sophie thought. It had all seemed useful, or valuable, or important at the time, but now, with the straps of her pack digging into her shoulders even through the padding of her armor, and the bags she carried weighing her down even further, picking up so many trade goods on the journey seemed like an exercise in very foolish greed.

Stenvar seemed to agree with hert spoken beyond an annoyed grunt in hours. At least they had finally reached Riftend be able to put the bags down. She asked directions to the inn from the first person she saw, a tall warrioress trailing a young man behind her like a puppy in training.

There was a bustling marketplace just about to close outside the inn, and Sophie briefly considered stopping to trade first, but she couldnt want to run the risk of trading away something she might actually need.

Inside, the inn had a large, warm eating room, and the smell of the food made Sophie's mouth water. She'd gotten pretty good at travel food, but supplies were often limited and the fires she had to cook on weren't always reliable. Half-cooked, burnt, watery food was a hazard of the road, and the well-cooked meals to be had in the larger cities always a nice change of pace.

Stenvar sniffed the air. "'Bout time we had a real meal."

He'd been grumpy for days; Sophie thought his leg must still be bothering him, although he moved without a limp.

"I didn't think it would take so long," she said apologetically, getting another annoyed grunt for her trouble. Well, if he was going to be like that, she'd just get on with it. Maybe a sleep in a real bed and a soak in a tub would improve his outlook.

The Argonian woman behind the bar looked up as Sophie approached. "What brings you to Riften today?" she asked pleasantly.

"Just … travel. Two rooms, please."

Eyeing Sophie doubtfully, the Argonian said, "Twenty gold. Do you have so much?"

Having anticipated the price (and thanking the gods that Skyrim inns had such a predictable pricing structure), Sophie had a purse tucked into her belt with just the right amount of coin. She detached it and handed it to the Argonian, whose smile widened and became more genuine as she weighed the purse in her hand.

"Very well, then. Talen-Jei!" she called, and another Argonian snapped his head up instantly.

"Yes, Keerava? What may I do for you?" he asked, hurrying over without even putting down his broom.

"Please take these two to their rooms."

"Of course, Keerava. Immediately." His voice lingered on her name, and Sophie was hard pressed not to smile. The two were either newlyweds, or, she thought, more likely the man was nursing a serious crush. She peered curiously over her shoulder as Talen-Jei led them upstairs, and found that Keerava was watching him go. So it was mutual, only of course the woman was more subtle, as women were wont to be. Sophie made a mental note to get to know Talen-Jei a bit better during their stay in Riften and try to encourage him a bit.

"Thank you," she said as he unlocked the door of one of the rooms. She let Stenvar go first, her ears picking up the sigh of relief as he laid his bundles down and collapsed on the bed. His leg must be bothering him more than she'd thought. As Talen-Jei moved on to the next room and unlocked it, she said, "That Keerava seems to be a lovely person."

"What? Oh, yes, she is. Very lovely." He peered at her intently, trying to determine if she was making conversation or if she had eyes for the Argonian woman herself. Since Argonians—and women—weren't particularly Sophie's cup of tea, she had no trouble maintaining a look of innocence, and Talen-Jei relaxed. "Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thanks." She stopped short of offering him the same; too easily misconstrued at this stage of their acquaintance. Besides which, she was almost as eager as Stenvar to get into her room and set her bags down and lie back on a real bed.

Leaving the trading of all their collected goods till the morning, Sophie and Stenvar opted for a meal in the main portion of the inn. Keerava's cooking proved very tasty; certainly better than what they'd been able to cobble together over the campfires recently.

Midway through the meal, Sophie felt an odd tingle on the back of her neck; a pleasant one that worked its way through her body, making her shiver. She looked up, turning her head to see if there was some indication of where that feeling had come from, and her eyes met those of a man sitting across the room. He was perched on a bench near the door, wearing robes that looked well-worn and broken in. A magic-user, then. Was that where the tingling warmth inside her had come from? His dark eyes were locked on her, and when her gaze met them, he smiled. Confidently, as though she had confirmed something he'd suspected. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the wall, still watching her.

Keerava came over to take the plates. "You enjoy?"

"Yes, we did, thank you. Keerava …" She wanted to ask who the man was, but Stenvar was sitting there across the table, and she thought better of it. "Talen-Jei seems nice."

The Argonian woman nodded solemnly, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that said she knew where Sophie was going with this. "He is still missing one thing vital in an Argonian courtship—the engagement ring. He might need some help with that."

Stenvar groaned, scraping his chair across the floor as he pushed it back. "If you two are getting into girl-talk, I'm going to bed. We'll trade in the morning?" he asked Sophie.

"Sounds good. I'll sort what's in my bags when I come up tonight."

"Same here. See you in the morning."

He was limping a little, Sophie noticed with concern.

"He is your …" Keerava left the noun off questioningly.

"Companion."

"Ah."

"Keerava, who is that man by the door?" Sophie assumed the Argonian would know which man she meant.

"His name is Marcurio. He has noticed you."

"Yes, I could tell." Sophie was strangely, disturbingly excited by knowing his name, and by the equally sure knowledge that he was still watching her, those compelling dark eyes practically demanding that she look back. She took pride in not doing so, but oh, how she wanted to.

Keerava smiled a little. "Good luck to you."

"Yes, I think I'll need it." Despite the weakness in her knees and the heavy heat in the pit of her stomach, Sophie had no intention of getting anywhere near a man who had such a powerful effect on her. Instead, pretending to ignore him—_Marcurio_, her mind whispered seductively—she headed for the stairs, buttonholing Talen-Jei to find out what he needed in the procurement of an engagement ring.

For the rest of her stay in Riften, Marcurio appeared on the bench whenever she was in the main room of the inn, always with his arms crossed and his eyes on her, and Sophie pretended not to see him … and then lay tossing and turning restlessly in her bed all night for thoughts of him.


	6. Ended

"Boss, look at that up ahead," Stenvar called out, stretching out his longer legs to catch up with Sophie. She liked to walk fast; he paced himself a little more, so he was generally a bit behind.

Sophie grinned to herself. She'd seen the keep already—apparently this Dragonborn thing gave her sharper eyesight, which certainly came in handy—and had expected Stenvar's sudden interest once he noticed it.

"You see it?"

"I do."

"I ever tell you that when I was a kid, I used to dream about having one of those places all to myself?"

Only every time they saw one, she thought affectionately. Maybe she'd buy him one to retire to. "No, I can't say you have."

"Let's go see who's at home, shall we?"

Sophie shrugged. It wasn't as though they had anywhere special to be. "Why not?"

Hours later, she wished she could take back that shrug. The keep was thick with bandits, well-armored and well-trained, and she and Stenvar were both exhausted. Fortunately, they were nearing the top of the long, winding set of stairs that made their way up the center of the keep, and the bandit leader must be up here, because they'd cleared out the rest of the keep and hadn't seen any sign of him.

Sure enough, as Sophie snuck up the stairs, she could see a shadow on the wall. He seemed to be wearing some kind of horned helmet. She signaled Stenvar to stay back, and moved closer on her own, arrow nocked. As soon as the bandit chief made his appearance, she shot, the arrow flying true. But it glanced off his chestplate, dropping to the floor. He didn't even blink, shouting in anger as he charged toward her.

Sophie nimbly sidestepped the charge, turning as the bandit passed her and looking for a break in his armor where she could land a blow of her ax. But Stenvar was there, his great blade raised to catch that of the oncoming chief, and the speed of the two men's blows meant she couldn't get close enough to risk the ax, or get a firm bead on the bandit with her bow. Feeling helpless, she looked on. Stenvar was tired, though, and the chief was fresh and rested, and it wasn't much of a contest. Stenvar's knee buckled underneath him and he fell. Sophie had been watching for that, and she was on the bandit as quickly as she could—but not fast enough. His blade found Stenvar's neck, and it was over before she knew it.

Catching the chief unaware as he focused on his victim, she dispatched him with a sharp, vicious blow of the ax. Then she turned to her companion. Death had been quick, and his eyes were glazed over as he lay on the floor. He'd retired to a keep, she thought, trying to hold back her tears. It wasn't all to himself, as he'd be sharing it with the bodies of a number of bandits, but he'd gone out fighting, which was what he'd wanted.

Sophie took the amulet he wore around his neck as a reminder. Her legs felt leaden as she descended the stairs, each step harder than the last, but she couldn't sleep here. She stumbled out of the keep and into the night, looking up at the chilly stars. If he was there, she hoped he was pleased with the way it had all ended.


	7. Be Ready

_Thanks for reading, all!_

* * *

The nearest town … Sophie consulted her map to check the distances. Riften, then. Might as well, she thought, wishing she had Stenvar to consult. It was lonely being out by herself—she'd had his broad shoulders and stalwart support at her back for months now.

As she trudged down the hill in the direction of Riften, she decided she would need to hire a new companion. Stenvar would understand; she wasn't ready to settle down, to go home to Whiterun and live in her little house and give orders to Lydia all day. And the dragons kept coming, when she least expected them—she couldn't do that to her adopted home, leave it at the mercy of whatever dragon came along next, maybe get some of the townspeople killed. She thought of all the children who ran around Whiterun, busy at their games. They'd be too vulnerable to a dragon's shout.

No, settling down was right out, even if she'd wanted to.

And with that decided, slowly, inexorably, her thoughts turned to the strange man in the Bee and Barb, the one who had stared at her with such invitation in his dark eyes. She felt excitement thrum through her body at just the thought of him. _Marcurio._ Even his name in her thoughts felt … mystical. Magical. He was clearly a mage—had he used some kind of spell on her? Because she'd never had this strong a reaction to anyone before.

Nothing for it but to find out, right? she asked herself, knowing that even the question was just a sop to rationalize her yielding to the undeniable temptation he represented. But she wouldn't touch him, she vowed. No. It would be just business. It had been one thing with Stenvar—they'd both known what they did and didn't mean to one another, no one would have been hurt when things eventually ended. The physical side of the relationship had already been winding down. But this new man? Would he understand as well that Sophie wasn't looking for love, or long-term commitment? She couldn't take that chance.

Or so she told herself.

Riften was the same as always, busy, the marketplace filled with the voices of the merchants. The Bee and Barb was humming as Sophie walked in. Out of the corner of her eye she looked for Marcurio, on the bench by the door. Her pulse leaped—he was there, his eyes already fixed on her.

She walked past him, pretending not to see him there, and found Talen-Jei, giving him the gems she had picked up for the engagement ring he wanted to make for Keerava.

"You know he is still watching you, the magic-maker," Talen-Jei murmured after offering her his effusive thanks. Sophie had told him they were square as long as he and Keerava invited her to the wedding.

"Is he?" she asked casually. "Hm. Maybe he wants a job."

"Perhaps he wants something more than work."

She raised her eyebrows, pretending not to understand him, and Talen-Jei shook his head as he returned to his work.

At last, feeling her skin prickle with awareness, Sophie turned to the corner where her attention had been focused since she walked in. "I hear your name is Marcurio."

"Took you long enough, Dragonborn."

"Don't call me that."

"It's what you are."

"It may be what I am, but it isn't who I am. My name's Sophie."

"Sophie, then." His voice poured over her name like warm honey, and she tried to control the shiver of her reaction to it. "What can I do for you, Sophie?"

"I am in need of a traveling companion. How's your combat magic?"

"Unparalleled. What happened to the mindless mountain who was with you last time?"

"He was killed. That's what seems to happen to my companions. Think you can handle it?"

"Dying? I don't intend to do that anytime soon. Maybe your other companions were just sloppy." He was standing up, their eyes locked on each other.

"Or maybe they were arrogant. I don't have time for show-offs who won't have my back."

"It's only arrogance if you're not as good as you say you are."

"And are you?"

"Try me." His eyes warmed with a smile; he knew as well as she did that her mind was made up. "Five hundred gold, and my magic hands are all yours."

Such a line shouldn't have worked; her attraction to this man was unsafe. But the hum of excitement quieted her better judgement and Sophie found herself saying, "You're hired. We leave in the morning—be ready."

"Oh, I'm always ready."

She had no doubt he was.


	8. Too Much Pleasure

_Short, but hopefully fairly hot. Also NSFW. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

They spread their bedrolls out under the stars the first night out, next to a crackling fire.

"So, do we take watch?" Marcurio asked.

"Usually. One of us does half the night, then the other takes over."

"All business, eh? No time for a little bit of fun?"

"Did I say anything to indicate that this was going to be about fun?" Sophie tried for a sharp tone, but her growing excitement betrayed her.

"You didn't have to. You've wanted me since the first moment we saw each other."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've wanted you, too. Come here." He was on his feet now, reaching for her, and Sophie couldn't deny her own desires any longer. She went into his arms and lost herself in his kiss.

She'd expected him to be in a hurry to slake the passion they both so evidently felt, but he went the other direction, instead, taking his time, peeling off one piece of armor after another and stroking and kissing the skin that was bared in the process. Sophie was dizzy with desire by the time she stood naked in the firelight, aching for him, and from the glint in Marcurio's eyes, he knew it.

He slowly stripped off his own robes and everything that lay under them, revealing a lean, toned body. Sophie went on her knees before him, taking him into her mouth, and was rewarded with his moans of pleasure, reveling in her ability to shake his confident composure for the first time since they'd met.

Before she knew it she felt his hands on her shoulders, lifting her to her feet for more kisses, their naked bodies rubbing against each other. The friction had Sophie burning hotter than the fire, and she tore her mouth away, begging, "Please, now, please," as his mouth teased at her neck.

The next thing she knew she was on her back on the bedroll, her legs wrapped around his narrow hips as he filled her, thrust after long, leisurely thrust until Sophie was slamming her hips up against his in her pursuit of her climax.

She howled her pleasure as loudly as any wolf when it came, and was followed by Marcurio's exultant shout as he, too, reached his peak. He pulled her against his shoulder and they lay together, panting.

"I knew it would be good, but I had no idea," he gasped.

"No," Sophie agreed. But something in her was disquieted—was it possible to feel too much pleasure?


	9. Inside Jorrvaskr

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

The great hall of Jorrvaskr was cool after the heat of the day, and the sumptuous feast spread out on the tables smelled mouth-wateringly good. Sophie was hunting for Farkas, the warrior she was meant to trail on a few quests in her attempt to become one of the Companions.

Truth be told, she wasn't quite certain if she wanted to be one of the Companions, or even what that entailed, since it seemed to mean something different to everyone she spoke with. But they were a powerful group in Skyrim—particularly in Whiterun—and she was a lone mercenary. Making friends with them seemed the politic thing to do.

So here she was. Marcurio trailed after her, looking around him with interest. Sophie wondered if he'd ever thought of joining the Companions on his own account; it certainly seemed more profitable than sitting on a bench in the Bee and Barb waiting for someone to come along who needed the services of a mage and was willing to pay five hundred gold for them. Then again, the hierarchy of the Companions seemed pretty firm, new recruits such as herself working their way up from the bottom and poorly treated by those who had already done so, and Marcurio wasn't one to take orders. Even from her, he appeared to be humoring her when he did what she wanted more than actually agreeing that she was in charge.

"You! New blood!" barked a deep voice, and she recognized Farkas as he emerged from the shadows. "Took you long enough."

Sophie stifled a grin, thinking what a refreshing change of pace it was not to be catered to as the Dragonborn.

"We have places to be," Farkas said roughly. "Are you ready?"

"Where are we going?"

Aela the Huntress, an older Companion and one who had been unrelentingly hostile to Sophie from the moment they met, was standing nearby. She shoved past Marcurio and got in Sophie's face. "What's it to you? You go where Farkas tells you, you do what he tells you to do, or you're no true Companion."

"Funny," Sophie said, refusing to back down for the other woman. "Eorlund Gray-Mane told me that a true Companion brings her own skills and talents, and never acts as a doormat for others, even other Companions."

Aela didn't move. Neither did Sophie. They stood still, staring at each other, the challenge lying between them ready to be picked up by either side.

Farkas pushed between them. "Aela, there's no time for this. And we agreed I was in charge of the new recruit's next mission, so step off."

"Right." The dangerous edge was still in Aela's voice, even as she allowed herself to be nudged away from Sophie. "But maybe the next mission will be mine."

"Anytime," Sophie said.

When Aela was gone, Farkas turned to Sophie. "Good job. While I don't advocate disrespect, it's important to stand up for yourself. No one who lets themself be treated that way has a chance of becoming a Companion."

"So the attitude is all a test?"

His grin surprised Sophie; she'd imagined him as more the taciturn and humorless type. "Some of it."

"The Companions seem a bit arrogant to me," Marcurio put in. He'd been so quiet Sophie had almost forgotten he was there.

As had Farkas, apparently, and he was not pleased with the comment. His smile turned into a snarl. "Did you speak?" he demanded of Marcurio. His eyes were practically glowing with anger; Sophie found him an awe-inspiring figure. Marcurio stepped back, keeping his mouth prudently closed.

Farkas calmed himself with an effort, and turned to Sophie. "I will accompany you on this task; you may not bring a follower who is not of the Companions."

She wasn't entirely surprised, and while she didn't entirely trust Farkas, she didn't relish any further arguments between him and Marcurio.

"Wait, what?" Marcurio asked, forgetting the intimidation of a moment ago.

Sophie motioned him off to the side. "It's a secret society—is it that much of a surprise that they don't want an extra person along on an initiation? I should have mentioned it to you before."

"So what do you want of me?" he murmured, his compelling dark eyes flashing. "To trot off and hide myself in Breezehome until you snap your fingers again?"

In Breezehome? With Lydia? Sophie felt a stab of jealousy at the idea of what might happen if Marcurio and Lydia were sharing close quarters for the indeterminate amount of time she would be gone.

"No," she said, striving to keep her thoughts out of her voice. "I'll pay your passage back to Riften; you can return to your comfortable room in the Bee and Barb."

"And you? Will you be making 'comfortable room' for him?" Marcurio asked, tilting his head very slightly toward Farkas.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no," Sophie snapped.

"And will you return to me in Riften when your business is concluded?"

"Naturally."

"Very well, then. If I must." With a last venomous look at Farkas, Marcurio left Jorrvaskr.

Sophie watched the door close behind him. Would she go back to Riften to collect him? Marcurio did marvelous things with lightning in combat, but the strange pull she felt toward him had never lessened, and she didn't entirely trust it.

Still, there was plenty of time to consider that, she determined. She turned toward Farkas. "Let's go."


End file.
